


Some Kind of Fever

by Awakening5



Series: A Little Tight Around The Ol' One-Shooter [2]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: F/M, It's a Friendmas Christmas Party, So beware, but honestly, but the fic finishes before peter does, holiday smut, thats not where the focus is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:41:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28162602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awakening5/pseuds/Awakening5
Summary: Drinks, games, and good company. Remote cabin upstate. A certain someone she's always been intrigued by giving her far more attention than she'd ever have expected. Michelle's Christmas Eve—originally slated to be a disaster—is turning out alright. Better than alright.
Relationships: Betty Brant & Michelle Jones, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: A Little Tight Around The Ol' One-Shooter [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2056338
Comments: 27
Kudos: 71
Collections: Twelve Days of Promptmas





	Some Kind of Fever

**Author's Note:**

> I combined prompts from the outrageously wonderful [spidermanhomecomeme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spidermanhomecomeme/pseuds/spidermanhomecomeme) and [Jsscshvlr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jsscshvlr/pseuds/Jsscshvlr) to write this abomination. Hope you enjoy! Merry Promptmas!
> 
> 69\. Holiday Smut  
> 71\. Friendmas  
> 3\. "No peeking!"  
> 24 "It's freezing out here! Let me in!"

Drinks, games, and good company. Remote cabin upstate. A certain someone she's always been intrigued by giving her far more attention than she'd ever have expected. Michelle's Christmas Eve—originally slated to be a disaster—is turning out alright. Better than alright.

The Christmas tree wasn't overly garish, as she'd feared, knowing her uncle and his festive nature. It was warm, and cast a nice light on her friends while they drank and played games together.

Harry hasn't been awkward all night; which, considering their breakup had been over a year ago, and it wasn't all that serious to begin with, it is about damn time.

Ned and Betty's PDA had been right in the sweet spot—not overly affectionate to the point where Michelle is either jealous or disgusted, but enough to remind her of the beauty of love.

Gwen has been her beautiful, charming self. Somehow able to keep everyone engaged in the evenings' various activities without controlling them herself.

And the mysterious Peter Parker, who Michelle has heard about on more than one occasion from each of her other friends at _some_ point over the last few years, but only met in passing, is frustratingly attractive.

Not just physically, though she's not blind to the way his shirt pulls snug around his chest, or the fit of his jeans around that ass, or the sharp jaw line. No, beyond that, Peter is the kind of person _everyone_ gravitates toward. And if she was pleasantly surprised at Harry's maturity around an ex, Peter—and by extension Harry and Gwen (and maybe briefly Betty, if a hinted at tryst was not a figment of Michelle's imagination)—is remarkably cool around his exes. In fact, Michelle would have never known Peter was quite the thot with quite the history with seemingly all of her closest friends if they hadn't told her themselves.

He's funny without trying to be, and then not funny when he tries to be. But he's in on the joke, laughing at himself more than anyone else, so he's even funny when he's not funny.

So, yeah, overall, it's been a nice Christmas Eve. Even Peter seemed to think so.

"Really fun party you've thrown here, Michelle," he tells her while Gwen and Harry try to guess whatever Ned is trying to act out, and Betty watches with a mixture of amusement at her fiancée and hawkish intensity to catch any cheating among the group. Betty is nothing if not competitive, and Michelle's glad she's on her and Peter's team. Mostly, she's just glad she's on Peter's team.

"Thanks," she tells him while Ned throws his arms out behind him and jogs in place. Harry and Gwen's guesses at his charade are all over the place. "I'm glad you could make it."

"Are you kidding me?" he says. And now Ned is spinning in a circle, hands looped and extended in front of him like a hoop. "Thank you for inviting me. I know we've never really connected over the years, but I really appreciate you letting me crash the party."

He takes a sip of his drink. His is the only drink not spiked tonight. She watches him lick his lips afterwards before turning back to Ned. Peter hasn't been drinking tonight, unlike the rest of the group. He had to drive out here separately. Said he was spending the night and Christmas day somewhere else upstate, and couldn't spend the night with the others. So he is a responsible drinker. Which is good. Obviously. For anyone.

Gwen and Harry are shouting increasingly ridiculous guesses at Ned, who now holds out his finger, staring wide-eyed at it before booping Harry on the nose. Betty laughs while Harry and Gwen groan.

"Hardly crashing, Parker. Aside from your last round of charades. That was a tragedy."

Peter laughs at himself. "I still don't know how you didn't get 'rock star'."

"All you had to do was pretend to play the guitar Peter!" She says, throwing her hands in the air. "Not silently go through the rise to stardom, sex and drugs." Even though she'd rather appreciated a _few_ of his more suggestive charades.

"I was in character," he defends with a chuckle. "I'm sorry I wasn't thinking like a normal person at the time!"

Michelle shifts a little closer to him. "At least you're not as bad as Ned," she whispers as Ned now silently thunders around the room, arms outstretched like a bear. "What do you suppose he is?"

Peter leans in close. She can smell him—a woodsy scent, with just the slightest hint of cranberry on his lips. "He's Area 51."

She turns sharply toward him, which means their faces are just inches from each other. "How did you get Area 51 from _that_?" she whispers.

"Naruto run, UFO, E.T. finger, and now I think he's just so desperate for them to get an alien, he's just behaving like a monster." Peter pulls his gaze from her and smiles fondly at his best friend. Michelle smiles fondly at his fond smile.

"You two know each other pretty well, huh?" Michelle knew Ned through Betty. And she'd quickly grown to like him.

"He's my best friend. My brother," Peter says simply with a shrug. "You were wise to split us up onto different teams."

Michelle laughs. "It was a happy accident," she says as the timer runs out, and Betty stands up and starts a fairly obscene trash talking rant. "It was _my_ crazy best friend I purposely separated from her fiancée.

Truthfully, being on Peter's team was no accident. Carefully planned when Betty suggested they play charades. Michelle liked the idea of being able to watch Peter carefully without it being weird to be caught staring.

He flashes her a smile. "Happy indeed."

Her insides squirm pleasantly at the attention, but her elation is cut short when Peter sees something over her shoulder. "Fuck, is that the time?" he asks.

Betty swivels at his exclamation and without checking the time herself, proclaims, "Yes, Peter. You have to go. Which means the game is done, which means we win, motherfuckers!"

Harry glowers as Gwen and Michelle laugh, and Ned only looks at his dearest like she just uttered the most beautiful poetry he has ever heard.

But Peter is on his feet now, and Michelle stops laughing. She knew he had to leave, but why so early? She finally looks at the clock behind her and sees that it's well after midnight. The night had really gotten away from them. She isn't used to being so effectively...distracted.

"Sorry I have to go, everyone." He collects phone, cup, and plate from the coffee table. "I had a really fun time tonight."

Michelle is still trying to think of a way to keep him here for another hour when Betty stops her victory dance, and reaches out for his cup and plate. "I'll take care of these Peter," she says, and she looks worriedly at Peter. "You sure your old Honda can make it safely? It's really coming down out there."

"She may be old, Betty, but she's reliable," Peter says with a grin. "Thanks though."

"Night Peter!" Ned calls out. "Say high to...Anthony for me."

Peter rolls his eyes. "Ned, I'm sorry he still doesn't know who you are."

Ned crosses his arms and mutters something under his breath. Peter only laughs and waves goodbye to the others, who all call out their farewells.

"I'll walk you out," Michelle offers—the best she can do to extend their time together.

He flashes her another smile, genuine and happy. She collects his coat from the closet, and keeps it to her chest instead of handing it over. "It's too bad you can't stay," she admits.

Peter nods, and his eyes linger on hers. "Yeah—I wish I hadn't made this other commitment." Michelle hears the regret in his voice.

"Who do you even know upstate anyways?"

He shrugs. "An old...team of mine. We get together now and then, and thought it would be fun to do Christmas together this year."

"Well, our loss is their gain, I suppose," she says, fighting a blush, and handing his coat over.

"Thanks, Michelle."

"Call me MJ," she says, and his eyes light up.

"I got the MJ invitation!" He puts on his coat, grinning at her. "One of my two goals accomplished for the evening."

Michelle laughs. "What was the second?"

He gives her a sly smile. "We'll just have to catch up back in the city and work on that one," he says. Then he leans in to kiss her cheek. "It was really nice getting to know you, MJ."

"You too," MJ managed to keep her voice steady despite her racing heart and wandering imagination. "Drive safe."

She peers out the window as he walks through a windy, snow-filled bluster, bracing himself against the cold. He climbs into his car, and the engine comes alive after a few attempts. She sighs when he pulls slowly out of the driveway, and down the snowy way.

She turns around to find a smirking Betty. The rest of the group is still in the living room, joking and laughing. But Betty has her arms crossed and eyebrow quirked. "Don't say a word," Michelle warns.

"MJ, you _two_ ," she all but squeals, "were so cute. All night!"

Michelle blushes. "He's easy to get along with—as everyone at this party knows. Don't make this to be something."

Betty has the audacity to laugh. "Oh don't act like you aren't doing the same thing."

"Of course I wasn't. There are enough weird relationship dynamics here without me adding one more to the mix."

Betty shrugs. "That is true," she admits. "But Peter has a way of being such a good friend that when the relationship doesn't work out, we still want him in our lives. I don't think we would hold it against you."

"We?" Michelle prompts.

"Yeah—I mean, Harry and Peter were like ninety-five percent about the physical anyways. On and off whenever they felt like it. Peter and Gwen...let's just say they found out right when the relationship got serious that it could only end in tragedy. They still care about each other, but they knew it had to end."

While this information is interesting, and actually a little helpful, MJ isn't interested in the _other_ dynamics. "And you, Betty?" she asks with a grin.

"You know Peter introduced me to Ned," Betty says evasively. Michelle only raises her eyebrows. "Look, it was a one-night stand, he then introduced me to Ned. We knew we weren't compatible." She hesitates. "Outside of the bedroom."

"Betty!" Michelle laughs.

"He's talented, MJ!" Betty says. "I was hoping he'd cancel on the...his other plans and could prove it to you tonight. I am more than happily engaged, in a much more fulfilling relationship than Peter could ever give me, so it's perfectly reasonable for me to tell you that you'd have a good time."

Michelle only shakes her head. "Well, he didn't cancel, so let's just stop this talk right now."

"You better call him when we get back to the city," Betty says. "I'm telling you. Sparks all night with you two."

"Yeah, yeah," Michelle waves her off, and starts back into the living room to end the conversation. Mostly because whatever Betty had seen, Michelle had _felt_. And it wouldn't do to dwell on the feelings when there would be no fulfilling them tonight.

The party winds down, as drinks are finished, and conversation lulls. Her friends help her to tidy up, but they're all a little too sloshed to be of any help. So she sends them to their designated rooms. It's frankly a good thing Peter hadn't stuck around—there weren't enough rooms. Not unless he were to shack up with her or an ex. And...well, there was no use in playing hypotheticals. Instead, she sent Harry to the office space with the fold-out cot—the guy was rich beyond all reason and a little humbling was a good thing for him. Gwen got the double bed that shared the bathroom with Ned and Betty's room.

And MJ keeps the primary bedroom, of course. It was _her_ uncle's place, after all. And if he could enjoy sunny California visiting his son at Stanford, then she could enjoy the best bedroom in the house.

After everyone is settled in their rooms, Michelle makes the final rounds through the cabin, careful to make sure everything is in order and cleaned up.

She's just finished turning off all the lights when a knock startles her at the front door. Her heart punches against her chest, and she considers going to get Harry. But if he isn't already asleep, he is too drunk to be of any use. So she creeps forward on silent feet, and peers out the window. She doesn't quite believe what she sees.

She swings the door open. "Peter?" she asks—and it frankly needs to be a question. His face and hair are covered in half-melted snow, and he stands on the doorstep, shivering. He holds his coat tight against his chest.

"It's freezing out here!" he manages with a shaking voice. "Can you please let me in!"

"Oh my god, yes," Michelle says, and stands clear. He shuffles into the room, as Michelle tries to make sense of what is happening. He left over an hour ago. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"My o-o-ld reliable Honda w-w-wasn't so re-reliable," he shivers, but still manages to grin. His jeans are soaked through, and Michelle can tell his coat hardly does anything. Without thinking much, she wipes the melted snow from his face—which is frigid under her touch. "Engine gave out. Wouldn't start again. Phone had no service. Thought I'd come back here. If that's okay. Sorry."

His words are clipped while he tries to get his shaking body under control. "Fuck, Peter, of course it's okay." Had he really driven far enough that he then had to _walk_ for nearly an hour in a blizzard to get back here? She studies him closer, and he rubs his arms up and down his torso, which _also_ looks like it's wet. He needs a new coat. He kicks his frozen shoes off his feet, and that's the right idea. "We need to get you out of those clothes."

"Wow, I did not expect you to be so forward, MJ," he says, still smiling despite his convulsing body.

"Don't be dumb," she rolls her eyes, but can't help the tugging at the corners of her lips. She grabs him by the sleeve and pulls him down the hallway.

"I'm not complaining," he claims with a wave of his hands. "Just wasn't prepared for it."

"Oh my god, stop," and she leads him into her bedroom.

"Oh," he laughs when he sees where she's led him. "Were you not kidding? Because I don't think you'd appreciate my cold body right now. And there's this whole shrinkage thing you might've heard about."

"Seriously, dork," Michelle groans, and pulled him further into the room. "I figured you'd want to shower, and this is the only bathroom not blocked by sleeping guests."

"Ah," Peter says, still grinning, and he knew all along. Little shit. But now inside her bathroom, his numb fingers actually start working at his belt. His smile drops. "Seriously though, MJ. Thank you."

Touched by his sincerity, she nods. "I'll get you a change of clothes. And don't use my towel. I'll get you a new one."

He thanks her again and she closes the door before he drops his pants. She leans against the closed door until she hears the shower turn on. She hopes he doesn't turn it hot too soon. That kind of shock to the body can do serious harm. She rolls her eyes at her worrying, and distracts herself by collecting a towel and looking through her clothes to find something that will fit him. He's about her height, so it should work out fine.

When she returns, she knocks lightly on the bathroom door. "Peter? I'm just going to set this on the counter, okay?"

"Okay," he calls out from inside, and she ignores the thump of her heart and opens the bathroom. She takes a step in and sets the items down.

"Thank you," he says, and she looks up to find him peering out from behind the shower curtain, earnest look on his face. He's also got the curtain pulled diagonally across his body, holding it at his hip with one hand and past his face with the other, so Michelle gets an eyeful of an absurd body, toned with ample muscle at the chest and abs. The fit of his shirt had hinted at this, and Michelle may have _imagined_ this. But...wow.

"No peeking!" he says, and the soft, genuine look is gone when her eyes dart back up to his. The little fucker is grinning at her, and Michelle has to deal with the fact that he caught her leering.

She swallows. "All warmed up?"

"Getting there," he says, and his eyes flicker across her face.

"Good. Here's...the towel. And some clothes." She finds his crumpled, cold and wet, on the floor. "I'll just throw these in the dryer."

"Thanks, MJ," he says again, serious once more. "Oh, and if you could make sure my wallet and phone are out of my pockets first? I do _not_ want another ruined phone."

"Sure thing," she says, and all but runs out of the bathroom. She leaves her bedroom, too. Because she really doesn't trust herself to be sitting on her bed when he comes out of the shower, skin pink from the temperature change, hair wet and messy, wearing _her_ clothes.

She throws his clothes in the dryer, collects some blankets to throw on the uncomfortable couch for him, and goes to the kitchen again, tossing his stuff on the table to get herself a drink of cold water. She leans against the table, sips her water, and tries not to think. She focuses on the Christmas tree. Yes. It is nice. And the scent of the pine cones in a bowl on the table. Yes. Nice.

When he emerges from her room a few minutes later, Michelle realizes she doesn't trust herself _anywhere_. Leaving her bedroom and focusing on Christmas did nothing to keep her mind from going places. But could she really be blamed? Her pajama bottoms might be a little long on him, but they fit snug around his thighs. And they fit snug around the crotch, naturally. Michelle forces her eyes not to linger—she knew he wasn't wearing any underwear, after all. She'd just thrown those in the dryer with the rest of his clothes. Instead, her eyes rake over his body. If _his_ shirt had fit tightly across his chest, _her_ shirt practically strangles him. And now that she's already seen his bare torso, she needs no imagination to determine what is under that shirt.

And finally, her eyes land on his. She is half-inspecting his incorrigible grin again, catching her checking him out as he did. But she finds fire in his eyes instead as he stares her down.

"Warmed up?" she asks again, voice catching in her throat. She already knows the answer to that. He steps closer to her, almost in her space. Certainly closer than a normal conversation would demand. Not close enough though.

"Definitely." His voice is low, and MJ feels heat pulse through her. The look in his eyes is criminal.

"I...uh, got some blankets for the couch. It's not comfortable, but the blankets will keep you warm."

He nods, takes a step even closer. "That's good. Heat is good." Her heart beat is irregular.

"Hope you don't catch a cold," she says, embarrassed at herself for keeping up a pretense that Peter has very obviously dropped. She reaches out to put a hand to his forehead, as if she could feel a fever already.

He steps even closer. Her hand drops to his chest. His hands encircle her waist. "I don't get sick," he says. And not like the douches who think their body is special and don't wear a mask during a pandemic. He's just stating a truth that he's not so interested in. His interest is her, and his eyes drop to her lips.

She leans forward, pulled like a magnet, and the sign is all Peter needs to crash his lips into hers. His mouth is urgent against hers, and maybe he's been thinking about this as much as she has all night. She hums into him when his tongue brushes between her lips. His arms wrap around her lower back, and he pulls her to him.

The heat in Michelle starts to simmer when he drops a hand to cup her ass, and she feels him growing hard against her. There really is not much material between them, and Michelle rubs against him to sate the emerging ache between her legs. Peter groans into her mouth before pulling back and latching on to her neck, instead.

"Peter," she moans, lifting her head and letting him work at the skin of her throat with his lips and tongue.

"MJ, I swear to god," he chuckles, finding her collar bone of particular interest. "Been driving me crazy all night."

She rubs against him again, and he pins her hips to his. Fuck, he's _powerful_. She can feel it in his chest against hers and his arms around her. She snakes her hands up his back and neck, and fists his hair in her hands. He groans again, and sucks on her neck.

"Peter, don't you dare give me a hickey. Not where it's visible, at least," she adds without thinking. So naturally, he pulls back, and starts tugging at her shirt. She lets him pull it over her head, but makes him take off his too. Her shirt is too tight on him, and he struggles a little to pull it off, which is just fine for Michelle as she watches the muscles on his stomach and chest strain and move with his twisting.

"Get the fuck off," he growls at the article of clothing, before it finally pulls free.

"In a hurry?" she asks with a smirk. His hair is a mess now, and he looks wonderfully disheveled.

His eyes roam her body in response, and he runs soft fingers over the skin of her stomach. "Couldn't look at you with the shirt blocking the view. Fuck, you're beautiful, MJ."

She flushes at the praise, and pulls him back into a searing kiss. And his hands on the bare skin of her back is immeasurably better than with her clothes on. He remembers he'd been on a mission to mark her, apparently, because his lips leave hers and travel down to her chest. He kisses, and nips at her flesh just above her bra before sucking at skin. She lets him. She wants proof of him here as much as he apparently does.

He's crowding her against the table, and lifts her up onto it. He fits between her legs while he works at the hook of her bra. He's hard against her thigh, and she gasps out when he rubs against her. Her bra falls from her body, and Peter all but throws it across the kitchen.

He groans at the sight of her, curses a couple more times, and then he palms one breast while his lips cover the other, tongue darting back and forth across the peaked flesh of her nipple. With each swipe of his tongue, electricity charges through her blood, and the heat in her boils. She's wet, and can feel her underwear soaking through.

Peter takes a deep breath, and even though it might be silly to think, she knows he can smell her arousal with his reaction. "Fuck," he growls, and pulls back. His hand lowers from her breast, over her abdomen. "MJ, can I touch you?" he asks, voice hoarse with desperation

"I thought you were," she says, breathless. But he's not playful. He only stares at her harder, leaning close to her. She nods. "Please."

His hand slips under her waistband. His fingers glide over her center, and they both say 'fuck' into each other's mouths. Before they bring their lips together. It's filthy, and he presses his finger inside of her at the same time his tongue presses into her mouth. Sloppy, wet, frantic kisses while he spreads her arousal around, and finds her clit.

"Peter!" she gasps out. "Touch...touch me again there."

He does. Repeatedly. He presses his forehead to her shoulder while his fingers work. His other hand is wrapped around her back, his fingers splayed out, like he's feeling at every tremor of her body. And she claws at his back, unable to contain herself for the tightening coil in her gut.

She rises and rises, and then he moves his fingers from her clit and presses two deep inside of her. And even though she doesn't fall of the edge, she's building impossibly higher. And his hand is moving so fast, the resistance of her waistband be damned. Despite the speed, she can feel every push and drag of his fingers as he fucks through her.

She's panting when his thumb finds her clit again, circling her and then pressing against her when she least expects it. And every time she's close to crashing, he relieves the pressure. And Michelle would be mad at his teasing if she didn't feel so good. Instead she only burns for more. " _More,"_ she begs aloud.

His lips are at her neck again, and he's leaving a mark. She's sure of it. Like a horny teenager, he's marking her neck. And she doesn't care. All she needs is the thrum of heat and light pulsing through her with his fingers and lips.

His lips move up along her jaw, and how are his fingers _still_ moving like that? Then he's licking at the shell of her ear, and his thumb is back on her clit, feather light. "MJ," he whispers loud and clear.

Her 'huh' comes out as a strangled moan.

"Come for me," he whispers, presses hard to her clit while curling his fingers, and she explodes.

Fireworks light behind her eyes and ignite deep inside her, flash after flash of igniting heat, getting bigger and brighter with each wave that ripples through her. And all the while Peter pumps his fingers inside of her, whispering in her ear. "Fuck Michelle, you are incredible. You're so fucking hot and wet, you come so pretty."

And all she can do is hold on to him and hope she remembers to apologize for the claw marks in his skin later.

And then she comes back to herself, and Peter's staring at her with a look of awe in his eyes, his fingers still deep inside of her.

"Fuck," she says, a smile coming to her lips.

"Yeah," he responds, and leans in to kiss her.

He's so hard, pressing against her leg, and she looks down to see his erection plain as day inside her tight-fitting pajama bottoms.

"Fuck," she repeats, disappointed this time.

"What?" he asks, and looks down confusedly as he pulls his fingers out of her, soaked with her. She almost wants to laugh if he thinks she's disappointed in his arousal for her.

"I don't have any condoms up here," she says.

His face lights up at her implication. "Did you pull my wallet out of my pants?"

She waves behind her, near the bowl of pinecones or whatever the fuck that is. Peter kisses her while he leans forward to grab it, and pulls a condom out. "Oh thank god," she says when he breaks the kiss, and tugs her bottoms from his waist. His erection springs free, and she catches it in her hand.

He's heavy in her hand, and Peter lets out a guttural sound that turns her right back on. She pumps him a couple of times, and he's forgotten the condom in his hand as he braces the table on either side of her. She brushes her thumb over his tip, spreading the liquid beaded there, and drawing out a few more curses from him while he screws his eyes shut.

He fucks into her hand, the rock of his hips shifting the table slightly. It seems to remind him of her position there, and he gathers himself enough to tug at her own sweats. She lifts her hips—reluctantly releasing her grip on him to do so, and they both wriggle out of the last of their clothes. He's remembered the condom in the break in action, and he tears open the package. She takes it from his hands, and his eyes are so blown with pleasure, she wonders if he'll be blind from the minimal light exposure of the kitchen and the Christmas tree.

While she rolls the condom on him, his fingers press inside of her again, dragging much slower than before, teasing and preparing her. She pumps him slowly to match his pace, and they kiss again. When he feels satisfied, he pulls his fingers from her and carefully licks them off, and Michelle breathes out a long 'fuck' at the sight. And she knows in that moment that's she's going to need his mouth on her at some point in the near future.

But then he presses inside of her, slow, inch by inch, and she's not worried about his mouth anymore. "Peter, _fuck_ , you feel good."

His chuckle is almost pained. "No comparison to how you feel right now," he kisses her. "You're so tight around me MJ. I swear I might come right now."

He doesn't, and she thinks it's more talk than reality. But that talk fills her with an incredible power.

He pulls her more to the edge of the table so he can get deeper inside of her. And she's only now realizing there are more comfortable and certainly more private places to be right now, but she doesn't care. Not when he starts moving and he feels so fucking good inside of her.

She falls backward as the pleasure streaks up and down her spine. Peter's hands at her lower back ease her down until her shoulders touch the table. Back arched, she focuses on her breaths and on Peter's cock, moving in and out. One of his hands covers her breast while he continues to fuck into her, and he squeezes, then rolls her nipple between his fingers, gentle. But the combination of sensations rumbling through her is too much. Shit, she's going to come _again_ if he keeps this up.

And she desperately wants to. "Peter, harder," she whispers between moans, and he obeys. His hand tightens around her waist, and the table shifts back and forth underneath her, but he somehow keeps that mostly steady, too. The multitasking of this guy was insane. When he moves his hand from her breast, and finds her clit again, fingers steady despite their shifting bodies, her admiration of his agility only grows.

He shifts his hips, lifts one of her legs, and somehow strikes deeper inside of her. The steady beat of the new angle has her yearning for release, clutching desperately at the table and his forearm. She lets go and her climax washes through her, a picture of pure ecstasy while he curses and quickens his pace.

And through her delirium, she hears him swear, "Fuck, somebody's coming."

Michelle can't quite believe he's prefaced his own orgasm that way. "Bet it's you," she snorts. But then he's lifting her from the table and pinning her to his body. His thrusts have stopped.

And Betty walks into the kitchen.

She freezes, and Michelle's eyes widen as she looks over Peter's shoulder. She only now realizes Peter was attempting to shield her as much as possible from view. Which is kind of sweet, she supposes. Though she's not so worried about Betty, whose eyes scan the pair at the kitchen table before averting her gaze.

"Oh my god, you two!" she whispers angrily.

And yeah, now that the veil of lust has been so rudely ripped from her, Michelle can admit this was really stupid of them, and really inconsiderate. Peter has the presence of mind to slip out of her, perhaps feeling this was strange enough a situation without _actively_ having sex with her while Betty was in the room. Though his erection remains pressed against her slit. She leans back just enough to see his reaction—eyes shut tight, like he's begging someone for this all to be over soon.

"Sorry, Betty," Michelle says softly. How _loud_ had they been? She wasn't even thinking.

Betty only groans. "Ned isn't sleeping off the alcohol so well," she explains. "He's feeling sick, so I thought I'd get him a glass of water. Then it sounded like someone was dying in the kitchen when I was getting closer.

"In the cupboard by the sink," Michelle says, ignoring the second comment. She prays she didn't sound like death when she came, and has to believe Betty was just giving them a hard time. She and Peter seem frozen to the spot. Like moving to put on their clothes would make it all even worse. Best to just wait out the awfulness of it all.

Betty crosses the kitchen, stepping over Michelle's bra with a quick exasperated look at Michelle. She grabs a glass, and starts filling it, excruciatingly slowly. Michelle understands Ned is suffering, but couldn't she just grab the glass and fill it in the bathroom or something?

"So, Peter, did the Avengers cancel or something?" Betty asks, voice strained. Is she _really_ trying to make conversation right now? And...the _Avengers?_ _What?_

"Car broke down," Peter's voice cracks, and his discomfort manifests with a too-tight grip at her waist. Add reddened finger marks to the list of Peter's imprints on her tonight.

Betty hums, and when she finally turns to leave, she has a wicked smirk on her face. Michelle glares at her. Betty arches an eyebrow on her way out, and Michelle has to nod and concede. Yes. Peter is that good.

"Make sure you fucking scrub that table clean," she says. And then Betty is gone, and Peter finally looks back at Michelle. And they burst into fits of quiet laughter. "Well, that was terrible," he says, still grinning. "I mean Betty. Not the sex. The sex was...wow."

Michelle has to agree. But he has softened considerably, and that leaves Michelle more disappointed than she'd care to admit. She can't imagine Peter's disappointment. And frankly, the idea that he not get the... _complete_ experience bothers her. She wants Peter to have the full satisfaction.

So she takes him in hand, careful not to let the condom come off. She feels him start to stiffen again in her hand.

"Michelle," he says, and she sees a torn expression on his face. Desperate to continue, but afraid of another interruption.

"The couch is uncomfortable," she says.

"What?"

"The couch. It's uncomfortable. So...you should just sleep in my bed," she says.

A slow smile comes to Peter's face. And he swoops her up in his arms easily. She laughs, and vaguely wonders if this guy is Spider-Man, and vaguely remembers she should wipe off the table, and vaguely thinks they should at least collect their clothes from the floor. But who has time for vague things when Peter's very real and very pressing body is carrying her to her bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> It's not that I hate writing one-shots, because 99% of the one-shot is a lot of fun to write. But wtf how do people end these things??
> 
> Happy holidays and I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
